


New Trials

by book_zealot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-04 00:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/book_zealot/pseuds/book_zealot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dying in the forest had more effects than they thought, and being a twin can be complicated. Harry and the Twins to start over in a new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Voldemort was dead. Voldemort was dead and people were celebrating. Harry sat at the side of the Great Hall and watched as people who had been fighting for their lives and hour before relaxed and celebrated surviving. Well, some celebrated. Others were mourning. He frowned. Voldemort was dead, but so were so many other people.

Harry’s breath hitched for a moment, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes. The bodies of the dead were lying across the hall from him. Over to the left was Colin, who shouldn’t have even been there. He was supposed to evacuate with the younger students. Who was going to tell Dennis? Next to Colin were Remus and Tonks, lying next to each with hands clasped.

Wasn’t Tonks supposed to stay out of the fight in case something happened to Remus? She was supposed to take care of Teddy! Harry’s sadness turned in a flash to anger. Why had she been so selfish? Why hadn’t she stayed behind? Why did she insist on fighting? Now Teddy was an orphan. Harry supposed as his godfather it would be his responsibility to raise him.

At this thought Harry’s chest tightened and twisted. _Wrong. It wouldn’t be right._

Harry frowned again and rubbed his chest. Wrong? Wouldn’t it be right to raise Teddy? Wasn’t it his responsibility now?

_Wrong. This is wrong._

That gave Harry pause. He recognized that voice. It came from within himself. It was Harry’s inner voice. His instinct and magic. The one that helped him fight off the Imperius curse. The one that niggled at the back of his mind when he started connecting clues to a problem that was close to being solved. In first year it helped Harry put together the mystery of the stone. In second it helped him put together the basilisk, the spiders and Moaning Myrtle, leading him to the Chamber of Secrets. It helped him understand the time travel when Hermione’s more logical mind was confused. It helped him realize where Voldemort’s horcruxes were. Year after year it had helped him, saving his life on several occasions. It was a voice that Harry had learned to trust. It was his instincts and magic, trying to keep him alive. And now it was telling him that taking care of Teddy would be wrong.

Why? Was it because Remus and Tonks were supposed to raise him? Was it because he was too young to be a father? Was it because he didn’t know anything about children, and would do a poor job?

There was no response from his inner voice. None of those reasons felt right, but Harry wasn’t sure they were entirely wrong either.

A cheer from some celebrating sixth years made Harry look up. He would put aside the question for now. There were other things that needed his attention.

“Harry?” Hermione asked from beside him. “Are you ok?” He turned to look at her. She was leaning against the wall beside him, looking concerned.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I’m fine Hermione. “

She looked even more concerned at that. “Are you sure? You’ve been rubbing your chest for a few minutes. You aren’t hurt are you?” Harry looked down in surprise. He had been rubbing his chest, but hadn’t noticed. Her concerned look suddenly turned suspicious, and he could practically see the cogs spinning in her mind. “Did something happen? Oh my goodness, you were hurt in the forest weren’t you? That’s why V-v-Voldemort thought you were dead isn’t it? What happened? What did he do? Did-“

“Hermione!” Harry interrupted, holding up his hand to fend off her rapid questioning. “It’s fine! Yes, something happened. I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about what happened in the forest.

He had died.

Harry had died, and then come back afterwards to finish Voldemort off.

He had been able to do it because he was the Master of Death. What did that even mean? The whole idea made him feel odd. He had felt very aware of the hallows since he came back from his…holiday from life? His cloak was rolled up in his pocket, feeling like an old friend; safe and familiar and like mischievous secrets.

He could feel the elder wand too. It was a presence at the back of his mind. Not friendly like the cloak, but poised like a weapon at the beginning of battle. It was waiting in anticipation.

The most peculiar in his opinion was the resurrection stone. He had thrown it away in the forest, not seeing the need for it since he was going to die, but he felt that one too. If he walked out to the forest he was sure he would be able to walk straight to it, even though he didn’t know where he had thrown it to begin with. It felt like grief. Grief with an echo of unsubstantial blackness.

He shuddered, and looked around for something to distract Hermione with. She tended to get hooked on a topic if he couldn’t distract her, and this wasn’t something he felt up to talking about right now.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked, hoping she wouldn’t insist on questioning him any more right now.

It worked and her suspicion turned to sorrow. Turning and gesturing to the far right of the hall she said, “Over there. With the rest of his family. With the twins.”

Harry froze. _Fred._ How had he forgotten about Fred? He didn’t want to look, but felt his eyes drawn to the huddle of redheads near the right of the hall. Fred’s body lay there, with the rest of the Weasleys gathered around him. For a terrible moment Harry felt his world stop. George was lying unmoving, half on and half off of Fred, with a blank look on his face. Was he? No. George turned slightly, still with that blank face, but Harry could see that he was still breathing. And behind his left shoulder, standing with his hand on George’s shoulder was-

No. It was impossible. Harry was seeing things.

Fred was dead. His body was _right_ there.

“I have to go.” Harry said, pushing off the wall to stand. He could feel his breath quickening, panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t handle this right now. He couldn’t-

“Right,” she said, taking his hand. “We should join them.” He stared at her in horror. Join them? He couldn’t. He _couldn’t._ Everything that had been building up for the last day was starting to hit him. He felt choked up, like he couldn’t get his breath. _Fred was dead_ and _Harry_ had died and Dumbledore had _planned_ for him to die and Snape was his mother’s childhood friend and he was the Master of Death and Voldemort was dead and Remus and Tonks were dead and _Fred was dead-_

No. No he couldn’t deal with this right now. It was too much.

“No.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “No. I need to go right now.” He turned and started walking towards the entry hall.

“Harry!” She said surprised. “Where are you going?” He didn’t answer, but sped up his steps, dodging around the people in his path.

He hit the hall and broke in to a run, dashing up the stairs and down corridors. Tears began spilling down his face. He ran, not knowing where he was going or seeing anything around him until he tripped on loose stone and fell to the ground. Curling up he began to sob in earnest.

He wasn’t sure what was worse: all the deaths, or finally finding out the truth. The truth was he had been a horcrux and Dumbledore had known. As he lay there he wondered just how much Dumbledore had known. He always seemed so all knowing and wise. But how long had he known Harry was a horcrux? He had once told Harry that he knew about his childhood, about how the Dursleys had mistreated him. How long had he known? How much had he planned? It always seemed that Dumbledore always appeared had a plan and a backup plan. Hadn’t he known that Ron would leave again during the horcrux hunt, and left him the deluminator to find his way back? How much did he know about Harry? As he lay there shaking he felt the trust that he had laid in a “great man” crumble into dust. He sobbed harder.

His thoughts whirled around and around the events of the last day, unable to form coherence. Eventually, exhausted and upset, Harry lost all track of time and awareness.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Hours later Harry finally woke, calm enough to be aware of his surroundings. His chest was heavy with anger and grief, but he felt he could move now. He wiped his face with his hands and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Hopefully his break down hadn’t occurred in public. That would be all he needed to complete an already devastating day.

He was in what looked like an abandoned room. It was layered thick with dust and grime, with no windows or doors. He had stumbled in there through art of the wall that had been destroyed. Stepping over the rubble he looked around and found that he was on the fourth floor near the north side of the castle.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He had destroyed Voldemort, but what was he supposed to do now? There had been no immediate plan past destroying the horcruxes. He didn’t want to go back downstairs. He wasn’t sure he could be around people right now. He stood there a moment, before letting his slowly moving feet take him where they wanted. He would let instinct guide him for now.

Ten minutes later he was surprised to find himself at the Headmaster’s office. Climbing the steps past the destroyed stone guardian he wondered just what he expected to find there this time. The office was exactly how he left it earlier that day. The pensieve lay on the desk, still swirling with silver memories. He contemplates it for a moment before reaching out and tipping the pensieve over on the floor, ignoring the objections from the portraits on the walls. He didn’t want anyone else to view those memories. It was bad enough that he had to watch them. He was sure that it would be like second year all over again if other people found out about the horcrux. Secrets got out, and he wouldn’t take the risk of these ones being spread around.

He looked around once more. His instincts were telling him there was something else he had to do here, and if he had learned one thing since coming to Hogwarts it was to listen to his instincts. _There. The bookshelf._

Behind the desk was a ole wooden bookshelf, half full with ancient looking texts. He rounded to desk to get a better look.

“Just what do you think you are doing boy? Those books aren’t for students you little thief!” came a loud angry voice from one of the portraits, overcoming the mumbled complaints the other portraits were giving. Harry glanced up. It was Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry just gave a blank stare before turning back to the read the book titles. What did he care about portraits of men who were long dead right now?

_There. That one. Third shelf, forth book. That’s the one you need._

Master of Death: A Theory was the title. Harry sighed. Of course.  Hadn’t he heard Dumbledore had once been looking for the hallows? It wasn’t that surprising then that he had a few books on the subject. He pulled the book off the shelf and looked around again. Nothing else he needed here.

Turning to leave the room, he continued to ignore the rising complaints from the portraits. Didn’t they ever give up?

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Three months after “rescuing” the book, Harry found himself sitting in the library at Grimmauld Place. He had left Hogwarts, and found himself trying to avoid the Wizarding World as much as possible. It had taken too much away from him for him to feel comfortable there right now. That isn’t to say he didn’t keep track of recent events. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had asked Kreacher to get the Daily Prophet each morning, and spent breakfast pouring over the articles.

It looked like the Wizarding World was putting itself back together. The Death Eaters were mostly dead or in jail, and Shacklebolt was taking his position as temporary Minister with a serious competence none of his predecessors had possessed. With the majority of the Death Eaters dead at what they were calling “the Battle of Hogwarts”, it had been easy for him to clear out the ministry and set things right. Muggle-born prisoners were being set free, and property was being returned to the rightful owners. It looked as if cleaning things up would take a while though. Too much was damaged, and too many people had been hurt.

The worst articles were the ones concerning Harry. It had been a little too much to hope that people would leave him alone now that Voldemort was dead. Leaving the Great Hall the way he had brought attention he didn’t want. There was at least one article a day asking where he had gone and bringing up various conspiracy theories. Harry was dead, was off rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, he was getting married to three women and one man in a polyamorous wedding in France next week… some of the theories were getting increasingly ridiculous.

Some people would believe anything. Wasn’t is obvious that Harry was enjoying the comforts of eight veela in the America’s while helping the FBI track down escaped Death Eaters? That’s where he was right now. Honestly!

Despite the newspaper and despite being asked to help with rebuilding efforts, Harry couldn’t bring himself to leave Grimmauld Place for more than a short trip. Forget about going into Diagon Alley. Harry had only become more popular with the defeat of Voldemort using “esoteric magic’s most profound”. (Apparently either no one had heard his last lecture towards Voldemort, no one had paid attention, or no one had understood what he said. So Harry’s brief lecture on wand lore had become “esoteric magic”.) The first time he had left the house, three weeks after the battle, he had been mobbed by what seemed to be the entire population of Diagon Alley. Harry had apparated back home after ten minutes and spent the next two hours having a panic attack, curled up on the floor in the corner of his room. Needless to say, he hadn’t tried that again.

_Wrong. This is wrong._

Harry hunched over in irritation and annoyance. He had long learned to trust his inner voice, but that didn’t mean he always understood it immediately. For weeks now it had been telling him something was wrong, but he just couldn’t quite understand what was wrong. Something was obviously wrong, but specifics would have been nice. It was making him tense and irritable. He found himself snapping at Hermione and Ron when they came to visit, annoyed at them even when they hadn’t done anything wrong.

Harry was getting a lot of practice apologizing to them.

Hermione and Ron were the only ones who knew where Harry was staying. In fact they were the only ones Harry had spoken to since the battle. Everyone else he was avoiding. He had asked Kreacher about the wards when he moved in, worried that people would try to track him down here. Luckily the Blacks had been a paranoid family, and now that Harry was on Kreacher's good side he was able to raise the house’s built in wards, keeping most people out of the house. Apparently Sirius had never known about those. Grimmauld Place had become Harry’s fortified sanctuary.

Harry sighed. Much of the last few months had been spent healing, then trying to get Grimmauld Place in better shape. It was livable, but only just. Death Eaters had torn the place apart after the trio had left. Even the cleaning spree they had done a few years ago had barely scratched the surface. It kept him busy, and gave him excuses to avoid the letters he was inundated with daily.

The most frequent were from Shacklebolt and McGonagall. They were both asking him to help them. Help in the ministry, in the school, with the goblins (who luckily didn’t know that it was Harry who had broken in and then stolen a dragon. Shacklebolt had led the goblins to believe it was Death Eater thieves trying to take advantage. Apparently no one had actually gotten a look at their faces.), with the press, etc. It was as if they wanted him to turn into a younger Dumbledore, who had the answers and solutions to everything.

He ignored those letters.

He also ignored the letters thanking or scolding him for killing Voldemort. Letters from fans, and family of people injured. Letters of thanks and letters accusing him of taking too long to do the job. A cynical Harry thought people were changing their minds daily. First they were thankful, but given time and they would be angry that he wasn’t helping anymore. That he had barred himself up and was ignoring the world. They would soon get insulted, and angry that he was leaving things for them to fix. That was the way things worked. He was hated or loved, opinion swinging faster than Harry could keep track. He had almost stopped caring about it.

In fact he found it hard to care about anything lately.

The other letters he had gotten were from the Weasleys, and other members of the Order. He found it hard to deal with those letters as well. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Luckily he had Hermione and Ron to help him out. They were being his guard dogs and shields, keeping people away. He had confided in them about the horcrux. He had told them almost everything.

Almost. He hadn’t told them about the resurrection stone, or that he was now the holder of all three deathly hallows. He wasn’t sure how to. Hermione would never believe in the Hallows. She had already decided they were just a fairy tale several months ago. And Ron? Harry was trying not to provoke another jealous fit. Being the ‘special master of death’ might be more than Ron could handle. Instead he let them think that his mother’s sacrifice had once again saved him from the killing curse.

Instead of confiding in his friends Harry had buried himself in the book he found in Dumbledore’s office. It was mostly theory. Understandable since Harry was the only one who had ever gathered all three hallows, so there was little to go off of. Most of the book he was sure was wrong as well. He definitely wasn’t all powerful like the book suggested, and he had the feeling that he wasn’t immortal either. He thought he would have to work things out for himself, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know more about the supposed power he had. Several things he had learned already.

One. He couldn’t actually bring back the dead. Not that he had tried. He just had this gut feeling that anyone brought back would be like the second brother’s wife in the story. Miserable and wrong.

_Wrong._

Two. Harry was seeing dead people. Literally. After the battle Harry had thought he was hallucinating. He had thought he saw a ghost of Fred over George’s shoulder, and now he knew he had. In fact he was seeing lots of ghosts. Apparently bringing people back from the dead doesn’t work well, but it doesn’t mean the dead don’t stop by for a visit every now and then.

Or rather often, as it turned out.

It was rather unpleasant actually. Harry could see why the resurrection stone had driven the original brother mad. He was trying to get over his grief for those who died, but it was rather difficult when Remus and Tonks stopped by to visit Teddy, and every time he saw George he saw Fred standing nearby. Harry didn’t think it would be a good idea to talk to the dead. That would be a great reason for people to accuse him of being crazy. Crazier. Besides, he saw the dead, but could never understand their words. It was getting difficult not to respond to their actions though.

Still, Harry hadn’t felt that close to Remus and Tonks in life. He had barely known them, despite the relationship Remus had with his parents. Harry had always been closer and kept in contact with Sirius. Fred on the other hand was a different story.

Harry had been closer to the twins than people thought. He had been closer to them than anyone other than Ron and Hermione. Closer than Ginny or Sirius even. Fred and George had been the one constant in his life since he was eleven years old. At first they were just his best friend’s older brothers. Maybe he had to admit some fondness towards them from the beginning, when they had helped him get his trunk onto the train first year Despite what he was told about them later, they hadn’t played a prank on him. In fact Fred and George had never played a prank on him.

Then he had joined the Quidditch team first year, and grown closer to them during training sessions and games. That Christmas they had included him in their celebrations. By the end of the year he had quite a crush on the two of them. Not that he had recognized it for what it was at the tender age of eleven.

Second year had only given his crush more fuel. That summer they had rescued him from his relatives. Sure, Ron had been there, but Ron was his best friend. That was almost expected. Fred and George helping hadn’t been expected, but they had done it anyway. Later that year, when news of Harry being a Parseltongue broke out they had been two of the people to not think he was Slytherin’s Heir. In fact they had ridiculed it, and teased him until he felt better. And when Dobby’s bludger had almost killed him? They tried to protect him until he told him to stop and let him handle it. Sure, that was their jobs as beaters, but Harry still felt special when they became protective over him.

Third year they had given Harry the map. No more needed to be said about that. It was one of the few things he had of his dad’s, and it meant a lot that they had been willing to give up such a prized possession of theirs just so that he would be happier.

During Forth year they were again two of the few people to support him. They had even offered to help him out with the tasks, but Harry had thanked them and refused. He had finally recognized the crush he had on them thanks to some… _interesting_ dreams, and hadn’t wanted to risk them finding out. He wasn’t sure how homosexuality was seen in the Wizarding World, and wasn’t about to lose the friendships he had over an unrequited crush. Instead he had pretended to have a crush on Cho Chang. Since she had been dating Cedric he was free to ‘crush’ on her visibly. It meant people wouldn’t expect much from him, romantically since they all ‘knew’ he already had feelings for someone who didn’t return them. It worked, and he had quietly giggled about it a few times when he overheard some of the older students waxing over how tragic it was his feelings weren’t returned.

He feared for a bit that he had given his true feelings away when he gave them his Triwizard winnings, but apparently not. The twins had gone on to date Angelina and Alicia, and his feeling and remained secret.

Over the next few years his feelings had grown even stronger, but Harry had never acted on it. Aside from always being able to tell who was Fred and who was George, Harry had never let on how closely he had been watching the twins.

Ginny. Dating her was a mistake. Harry knew that. Dating her was the closest he could get to dating the twins, and Harry had taken horrible advantage of it. He felt like a rotten person sometimes with how he had led her on. By the end of the year he had realized how cruel he was being, and broke up with her. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her though, which is why he used the war and Dumbledore’s death as an excuse.

That was a mistake too. Now that the war was over she was trying to get back together with him. She was probably the person that he was avoiding the most.

Ginny had tried to visit a few times, but Harry had always sent her away. She was being persistent though, and Harry worried that he might have to hurt her after all.

Bang!

Harry jumped; startled out of his thoughts as he heard a door bang. Shit. That had better not be her. He didn’t think he could deal with her right now.

He stood, leaving his book on the chair, and walked downstairs.

It wasn’t Ginny.

It was George. And Fred, but Harry supposed he wasn’t supposed to see him.

George was slumped over, sitting on the bottom of the stairs, looking miserable. He obviously hadn’t washed in days, and might not have slept if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. His clothes were wrinkled, with stains and dirt all over them. His hair lay limp and greasy on his head, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in days by the thick stubble over hollow cheeks. He clearly hadn’t gotten enough to eat lately.

Harry stared for a minute, then sat next to him and remained quiet. Even in this shape George was handsome to him, but Harry might have been a little biased. George hadn’t visited before, but Harry had seen him the few times he had left the house and visited the Burrow. Each time he looked worse than the last. Harry hated seeing him like that, but hadn’t known how to help, or even if George would accept help from him.

Fred hovered in front of George, staring concerned at his brother. Fred looked the same as the day he had died, making George’s deterioration appear that much worse.

They sat like that for a few minutes, and Harry jerked in surprise when George suddenly spoke, voice hoarse with disuse. “Harry, do you know what soul twins are?” Harry thought, but couldn’t think if he had ever heard the term before.

“Can’t say that I do,” he replied.

George just sighed. “It’s hard to test for, and very rare. Have you ever heard about how twins have a special connection?” That was something Harry had heard of.

“You mean like how you could finish each other sentences?”

“Yeah. It varies between sets of twins. Some twins simple know where the other is at all times. Muggle twins have a small connection, but magical twins are even closer than that. We soul twins take it to the extreme.”

Harry frowned, “We? You and Fred are soul twins?” He winced. He had a hard time using past tense when talking about Fred. Especially when Fred was still there as far as he could see.

George froze for a second as well then said, “Are? Yeah. It’s not something that goes away when one of the twins dies. It means we share a soul. We were able to share thoughts. It was like we were the same person in two bodies. And right now half of my soul is dead.”

Harry stared at George, eyes occasionally flickering over to Fred. Fred looked worried, and maybe a little panicked at George’s words. His mouth moved and he shook his head, but no sounds came out of his mouth. It was disorienting and worrying to Harry, who tried to ignore Fred and concentrate on where George was going with this. “What does that mean for you?”

“A soul isn’t supposed to be separated like that. It causes insanity.” Harry could understand that. Hadn’t Voldemort split his soul? If he hadn’t been insane before doing so that had probably driven him over the edge. Wait. Didn’t he make the first one at age 15 or 16?

“I said that it’s hard to test for, and it can be expensive. Fred and I were never tested because of the cost, but everyone knew that we were soul twins.” George’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. “We caused a bit of an uproar when we dated separately, no one could figure out if we were cheating on one of our dates or not. Anyways the thing is soul twins do not survive well without one another. We can never separate for more than a few months. Like I said it causes insanity.”

The bitter smile remained on George’s face as Harry began to feel tendrils of panic spreading. “George?” Harry’s voice shook. “George. What do you mean?”

“I mean that I don’t have much longer to live. I have zero appetite, but even if I don’t starve to death I’ll go crazy enough to kill myself soon.”

Now Harry was in full out panic. He had had several panic attacks since the battle, having to fight for each breath in an overwhelming world. The largest being when he had gone to Diagon Alley, but he had woken up after hyperventilating and passing out on the floor at least once a week.

_No._

George couldn’t mean that. He couldn’t lose George too. Harry’s hands were shaking, breath coming in gasps that didn’t seem to let any air into his lungs. His vision began to go grey around the edges. He recognized this, but couldn’t seem to get any control over himself.

Someone was shaking him by the shoulders and yelling at him, and Harry was able to see Fred and George looking at him now, looking just as panicked as Harry felt. He could hear yelling, and saw both George and Fred’s mouths moving, but couldn’t hear anything over the roaring of his ears. Still, it was Fred and George, so Harry stared and tried to concentrate on what they were saying.

“Harry! Harry! Calm down! Breathe slower ok? Deep breathes. Come on!” Breathe slower, Harry thought. _I can’t_. Still, if George wanted him to try he would. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to slow his breathing. “That’s it Harry, just like that.” _Ok,_ thought Harry, _I’m trying._

Slowly the world returned to normal and Harry began paying attention to what was going on again. George had him in a half embrace, rubbing his back with one hand and looking pale and shocked. Fred was hovering in front of both of them, pacing back and forth, hands flailing as he ranted silently. That was enough to give Harry his speech back. “Sorry,” he said blankly, with limbs shaking slightly. “What were we talking about?”

George and Fred stopped what they were doing and stared at him for a moment. “Bloody hell Harry,” George said. “What was that?”

“Panic attack,” Harry replied, still in that blank voice. “It happens. At least it does lately. So,” he tried to change the topic back to George, “So, you’re going to die.” His voice trembled on that last word.

George still looked worried, but slowly nodded.

“Alright,” Harry said, and cleared his throat, “Alright. Why, um. Why are you here? Why are you telling me?” George sighed. He was starting to look depressed again.

“I talked to Hermione and Ron today. Hermione had never known about soul twins, so she didn’t realize. And if she didn’t, then you definitely didn’t. You haven’t really left here since… Ron, my whole family really, they’re in denial. I didn’t think they would tell you. I didn’t want you to find out when I suddenly wasn’t there anymore.”

“Denial?” Harry repeated.

“Like I said, never got tested. They are hoping that we aren’t soul twins, despite thinking that we were our whole lives. They don’t want to lose us both.” George began to look a little angry. “I’ve told them that I haven’t got much longer, but they just keep telling me to eat more, or perk up, or that I’ll get over it. I won’t. I can tell, I’m not supposed to be here anymore.”

_I’m not supposed to be here anymore._

Harry, still shaking and not totally over his panic attack from a few minutes ago, felt his whole being still with those words.

_Right. That’s right. I’m not supposed to be here anymore._

“So that’s it,” Harry said thickly, thinking furiously. “That’s what it was. Resurrection stone. That’s what was wrong.”

“What?” George asked.

“I’m not supposed to be here either.” Harry said slowly, sounding out the idea as he spoke. Fred was looking worried again, and George was shaking his head.

“No. No, wait. What do you mean?”

Harry remained silent for a moment. Should he tell them about the hallows? Fred was dead, he wasn’t going to tell anyone. George was dying and wouldn’t tell anyone. Yes. He could trust them.

“That thing you said, about souls not supposed to be split, did you know Voldemort did that?” That certainly wasn’t what the twins must have been expecting him to say. They looked a little thrown at the supposed change in subject.

“He did? No wonder he was a nutter,” George murmured. There was the twins’ sense of humor. They had been far more serious today than Harry thought they should be.

“Yeah. Except he did it on purpose. Seven times.” That made the twins recoil a little in unison and look sick. “He put pieces of his soul into objects called horcruxes and hid them. That’s how he survived. As long as those survived he wouldn’t die.”

“Is that what you three were doing all year then? Hunting down those - horcruxes did you call them?” No one had ever accused the twins of being stupid, Harry thought. Just unmotivated.

“Yeah. Not that we knew exactly where they were. Or how to destroy them. Dumbledore left us with a mess of vague clues and no idea how to put them together.” Harry’s mouth twisted in irritation. “Like it would have been so hard to tell us basilisk poison would have worked, or that the sword of Gryffindor was infused with the poison. But no! That would have been too helpful!” By this time Harry was almost spitting in indignation.

“Um, Ok,” George said slowly, and Fred made calming motions with his hands, as if that would pacify Harry.

Harry shook his head, “Sorry. Getting off track. Anyways, one of the horcruxes was in my scar, which was why I was getting visions and headaches.”

Now the twins were looking horrified again. “What? Did Dumbledore know? Wait, how did you get rid of that one?”

“Dumbledore knew. And I let Voldemort kill me to kill it.” The twins stared silently. “George?” They still stared, stunned. “Huh,” Harry said contemplative, “I think you’re actually speechless.”

That broke them out of their speechlessness. “Wha- you died? Why would you do something so stupid?” George yelled.

That took Harry aback. Stupid?

“Look, I didn’t have a lot of time to think of another method! I only found out about it during the battle! I didn’t have a lot of time! Voldemort was demanding I go to him, and I figured if I died then the horcrux would go with me. So I gave myself up. It was the coming back to life that surprised me more than anything.”

“Yes,” George latched onto that quickly. “How did you do that?”

“Like I said! The resurrection stone.”

“You mean the one from the story of The Three Brothers? Harry, that’s not real. It’s just a children’s story.” The twins were starting to look irritated. Fred crossed and arms and scowled at Harry over them.

Harry sighed. “I know it’s hard to believe, but you know my cloak?”

The twins nodded slowly, “Yeah? And?” Harry gave them a significant look, waiting for them to connect the pieces. “What? You mean that was _the_ cloak?” They were back to looking stunned. “So – so you had two of the items? And that let you come back?”

Harry shook his head, “Nope. I had all three.” Now the twins were poleaxed. “The cloak runs in the family. My ancestor was the third brother. The stone was placed on a ring, which was turned into a horcrux. The only one Dumbledore actually destroyed. He passed it onto me. The wand I won, even if Voldemort had it, it belonged to me.”

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An hour later Harry and the twins sat (well Fred hovered) in the kitchen. Harry was eating lunch, but George had declined. He had insisted Harry explain in more detail, and so Harry had filled him in on each horcrux, Voldemort’s childhood, Dumbledore, Snape, and just how Harry had become the Master of Death.

“Your life,” George said shaking his head. “Only you,” he said with fondness and a short laugh.

Harry paused for a moment with his spoon halfway to his mouth. That was probably the first time George had laughed since Fred died.

“So you brought yourself back to life?”

“That’s right,” Harry replied,” but no one is supposed to be brought back to life. Ever since then I’ve been feeling off. Like something is wrong. It wasn’t until you said that you weren’t supposed to be here anymore that I put it together. Neither am I.”

“And,” here George hesitated, “Fred? He’s really here? You’re sure?”

Harry smiled, and gestured to George’s side, where Fred was watching with wide eyes. “He’s right there. Hasn’t left your side. Gave me a fright in the Great Hall. Thought I was going mad until I started seeing more ghosts, and realized what was going on.”

George stared to his left, obviously unable to see Fred, but seemingly comforted at the thought that he was there. “So. What are you going to do now?”

Harry thought a bit. “I guess I really should get my affairs in order. I think I’ll leave everything to Teddy, Hermione and Ron. Guess I should write a will.” He frowned in concentration. Since his discovery a little over an hour ago he had been feeling surer of himself. Less like he was going to panic. He supposed it was because this felt right, and he had always felt better when following his instincts.

George sighed and rubbed his forehead, “That’s not what I mean. Are you alright with this? You seem so calm about it. It took me weeks to come to terms with dying soon. You just realized it.”

“True,” Harry replied, “but I’ve always been somewhat impulsive. I think better on my feet. This feels right. Like it’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s when I don’t follow my instincts that I get in trouble.”

“I suppose,” George grumbled. “I don’t think it’s so easy for me. I just want to be with Fred, but I don’t know anything about death. What if Fred and I get separated?”

Harry thought for a bit. Could he…? Yes he felt he could help. “If you want, if we do it at the same time, I think I can make sure you remain together.” _And that way I can stay with you two also_. Harry was feeling alright with his upcoming death. Partly because it felt right, and partly because it meant he wouldn’t be left without Fred and George.

“Could you?” George asked hopefully.

“I think so,” mused Harry. “I don’t really have a lot to go on with this Master of Death stuff, but I think I could probably manage that.”

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Harry wondered if this is what people who swore a suicide pact felt like. For the last three and a half weeks Harry and the twins had been nearly inseparable, setting up the plans for their upcoming death. Suicide, he supposed. He had never before considered committing suicide, and almost felt guilty about how simply everything was going.

The first order of business had been to set up his will. It was a bit surprising to show up at Gringotts and realize just how wealthy he was. Had he shown up on his seventeenth birthday, like he was supposed to apparently, he would have had an easier time on the run. It turns out his bank vault had been a trust vault, and his other vaults turned him into a millionaire. Harry didn’t see any use for the money and land now, but he supposed his friends would at least be set for life.

He had left almost between Teddy, Ron, and Hermione, with a little left to Neville, Ginny and Luna. Nice and simple. He had thought about starting a scholarship, or giving money to fund a welfare group for people who were having a hard time recovering from the war, but in the end decided he just couldn’t be bothered. The closer he was getting to the day he was going to die, the less the really cared about others. He supposed it was selfish, but really couldn’t bring himself to care. His living friends could take care of matters like that.

He couldn’t bring himself to forget about his friends though. Harry knew his death would hurt them, maybe even more than they had already been hurt, but there really wasn’t a good enough reason to stay. Nothing that could anchor him to life without him being miserable. It wasn’t as if he was living a great life at this point anyways. He barely saw his friends, and rarely could leave Grimmauld Place. He didn’t want them to feel abandoned, but couldn’t bring himself to explain things to his friends. He was sure they would try to stop him.

So he wrote them letters.

A cowardly way out, he knew, but it was the best he felt he could do for them.

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“Kings Cross Harry? Being dead is like being at Kings Cross?” That was Fred. George, being new at the whole death scene, didn’t quite feel like talking just yet. He was clinging to Fred, who was gripping his brother just as tightly, but seemed too shocked to actually speak.

Harry smiled. “What’s wrong with Kings Cross?” he asked looking around. It looked much the same as last time he had been there. Just without mutant baby monsters and old men. “I met a lot of great people here!”

Fred laughed at that. “Nothing! Nothing! So, where to next?”

Harry shrugged. “Pick a train I guess. There’s not exactly a guideline for this you know. And I don’t see anyone to tell us where to go.”

“True,” George said, taking a moment to look away from his brother and look around.

“So I guess we just-“

“-pick a train together?”

That made Harry smile wider. They were talking in twin speak! They must be feeling better. “Sure. You guys choose, I don’t really care.”

The twins looked at him oddly for a moment, making him blink. The next thing he knew they had each slung an arm around his shoulders and were herding him between then towards a train.

“Then we pick-“

“-this lovely train-“

“-over here.  It has a certain-“

“-air of fun-“

“about it.”

Harry felt himself start to blush, and was glad the twins were looking at the train (which to Harry’s eye looked exactly the same as all the others) and not at him. Usually he had better control over himself, but he was so relieved to no longer be feeling _wrong_ that he was just letting his feelings bubble over everywhere.

They boarded the train, which started moving almost immediately after they sat down. Looking around Harry could see that the train did look exactly like any other train at Kings Cross. Except that it was empty. Almost eerily so. Not even a piece of trash on the ground, and no hint of other passengers.

Harry smiled and relaxed into the twins hold. They were sitting on either side of him and chatting about what it had felt like when they had been separated.

He was going to be with the twins, and he was going to be with his family. With his mom, and dad, and Sirius, and Remus and all other deceased family and friends. He had been waiting a long time for this.

He was so relaxed that he didn’t notice the white spreading around him. Slowly everything around them was turning white. By the time he noticed, it was too late. His vision went white too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

The first thing Harry became aware of was darkness. He blinked, and tried to look around, but his head would not turn. From his current position he couldn’t see a thing. Just endless darkness. He took stock of himself. His body was curled up, limbs close to his chest just like he used to sleep as a child. There had never been much room in his cupboard, and as he grew older he learned to curl up so as to sleep without his body hitting the walls. There was no pain, which was a relief. Many times curling up had been uncomfortable because of bruises or cuts he had gotten from his cousin, aunt, and uncle.

Still, just because Harry’s head wouldn’t move didn’t mean the rest of him couldn’t move at all. He tried reaching out with his right hand, only to meet resistance. It was as if he was pushing against a soft wall; resistance that had a little give to it. Like rubber, Harry found that it would only move a small distance, and would return to its original position once he stopped pushing it. He tried his other arm, and met the same resistance on the left side of his body. Alright. So those directions were blocked off. What about down then? No luck. Pushing out his legs had the same results as his arms. He was well and truly trapped here.

Harry felt frustration and anger well up in him, and began to kick and punch out around him. What kind of joke was this? After everything he had been through this was his reward? To be trapped in the dark? Harry continued to pummel his surroundings. Surely there had to be some way out of this place?

After a short while Harry grew fatigued and his punches and kicks became weaker, and less coordinated. Something was definitely wrong with him. He hadn’t felt so weak since he was a young child and was forced to do more chores than could possibly be finished by one person in a day. By the time he would finish his list of chores he would be covered in sweat, muscles aching and panting in harsh breaths…

But he wasn’t panting now, Harry realized. In fact, Harry wasn’t sure he was breathing at all! Trying to pull in a breath of air was futile. It was as if his surroundings had no air. After pondering this for a time, Harry came to the conclusion that it didn’t really matter. After all, he could think clearly, and ghosts, as Moaning Myrtle and Ron had pointed out back in second year, didn’t need to breathe.

That didn’t explain how weak he was. It didn’t explain his strange surroundings.

Most importantly, it didn’t explain where Fred and George had gotten off to.

Harry settled down to sulk. This was not how he thought things were going to go. He had looked forward to being reunited with his family, but that hadn’t happened. Maybe they had gotten on the wrong train. Was there a wrong train to get on? He should have known they wouldn’t all go to the same place, but in his happiness at seeing the twins reunited, and his relief at no longer feeling ‘wrong’, he hadn’t really paid attention at the train station. It would have been just his luck to overlook a sign that showed the train’s destination.

As Harry lay there he slowly became aware of the passing of time. It seemed to him that his thoughts were taking a long time to form, as if he was half asleep….

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He woke again with a start,  not surprised this time at the surrounding darkness. Had he just fallen asleep? Stretching out again, he found himself in the same situation as before; with weak limbs, surrounded by elastic walls and darkness.

This, he decided, required investigation. He didn’t believe that this was all there was to death, and he wouldn’t – couldn’t – give up without trying everything he could. Investigation had always worked for him in the past, even if the answers weren’t pleasant.

Investigation, Harry soon learned, would be harder than he thought.

Staying awake was a trial in stubbornness and stamina. Not that he had much stamina at the moment. Apparently his limbs weren’t the only weak parts of his body, and he was often overcome by fatigue. Harry had found himself falling asleep quite frequently during his search, only to wake up an undetermined time later.

It didn’t help that Harry was alone here. The panic attacks he had following the Battle of Hogwarts had usually been set off by crowds of people who had gotten too close for comfort, but he had still been able to see his friends in small doses. Now it was the isolation and inactivity that was getting to him. Several times Harry had almost given in to despair. Had he really given up his life and friends for this? The memories of his friends helped him rally his resolution. No. He had given up his friends because he hadn’t seen any other choice. He was dead long before he had killed himself. He would just have to trust that his letters had explained enough to them about the situation. Still, what would they think about him giving up at this point? There had to be something....

The search itself wasn’t going well either. His surrounding didn’t change. Every time he woke, Harry did the same thing, reaching out arms and legs to check in all directions, before settling down and thinking of something new to try.

He ran out of ideas fast, and nothing he tried resulted in change.

It was somewhere around the third week that something changed. (At least, Harry thought it was the third week. He couldn’t accurately measure time while awake, and never knew how long he was asleep for, but if he didn’t at least guess how long it had been he thought he might go insane.) He had woken like usual that day, and reached out his arms in a stretch, but quickly noticed something new. It wasn’t his immediate surroundings, which remained black and cramped, but a sound. He hadn’t heard any sounds since arriving here!

Concentrating heavily, Harry noticed it wasn’t just random sounds, but the voice of someone speaking. He couldn’t make out the individual words. The speaker was muffled and sounded far in the distance.

This was different! And different, Harry decided, was definitely a relief.

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Several ‘weeks’ later Harry had mentally mapped out all he could about the voices he heard. The most common voice was a woman, he dubbed her Lady, and she spent much of her time singing, or speaking to three other voices.

Lover, as he dubbed one voice, was clearly the woman’s husband, or boyfriend. Harry still couldn’t make out any individual words, but he definitely knew that tone of voice. It was the same one that Ron and Lavender had spoken to one another in. A sappy, love-struck croon that often set Harry’s teeth on edge. On rare occasions Lover would turn more serious, but that sugary tone would always return.

Girl Child and Boy Child were the other common voices Harry would hear. They sounded like typical children Harry was pleased to find out. They had occasional crying and screaming fits, but were more likely to talk normally, or sound happy. It was a nice change from children like Dudley or teens like Malfoy had turned out.

There were other voices that Harry had named Shouter, Squeaky, Boss, Old Man, etc. There were too many voices to name each one individually, and even those he did name were around infrequently.

Harry’s imagination was certainly getting its work out these days. Left with little to entertain him and even less to do, Harry had turned to making up stories, often influenced by the people he was hearing. He had a lot of practice. When he had been younger it was one of the few things he could do while locked in his cupboard.

For example, raised, angry voices became a fight between betrayed lovers. Had Lover cheated on Lady? With Lady’s twin sister who they had all thought dead due to a freak diving accident off the coast of Taiwan five years ago? Was she here trying to steal an inheritance by seducing the sappy Lover?

Had Harry watched too many soap operas through the cracks of his cupboard as a child?

Probably. His Aunt Petunia had loved them.

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Time passed slowly in this manner, and over time Harry couldn’t help but notice that he had less and less room to stretch out. There was less room to move in, and the walls had become harder, less giving.

One day, Harry thought, the walls will just shatter and I’ll be able to get out of here.

That day came sooner than Harry thought.

It started with the walls.

Walls that had been so firm and unyielding to Harry suddenly contracted, squeezing him unpleasantly, before suddenly relaxing again. Harry froze, shocked.

What had that been? Whatever it was, it wasn’t done with Harry just yet. The sensation returned, again and again, infrequent at first, but soon it was coming more and more often. It had become so tight that Harry wanted to scream in pain. He was being herded in one direction, and was given no chance to move there on his own.

Growing more and more upset Harry lost all sense of time under the barrage.

It was rather like being under the Cruciatus Curse, Harry thought in one of the moments of peace. All-encompassing pain that made it hard to think, hard to track reality, and hard to recover from.

After what felt like hours Harry finally felt something give. He was surprised, because he had expected his bones to shatter long before he thought the walls would breach, but breach they had, and after months and months Harry finally found himself somewhere new.

Unlike when Harry had finally heard the voices, and discovered something to entertain him, this change did not please him.

This place was almost the opposite from where he had come from. It had been almost oppressively dark, and sure it had been a tight fit, but at least it had been warm. This place was cold, extremely cold. And bright. Going from months of darkness to blinding light made Harry screw his eyes shut and scream, his voice rising in a wail of agony.

Warm things were grabbing him, pulling him in different directions, making Harry scream even louder. In fact, Harry found he couldn’t STOP screaming now that he had started. At the end of each wail he could feel himself gasping in huge lungful’s of air (real air!) before he would release it again in a constant cry of unhappiness and frustration.

It took Harry about half an hour of strange sensations and crying before he was able to calm down enough to register what was going on. He was warmer now, and felt cocooned in a soft fabric, which must have been a blanket. And there was a soft voice crooning soft words in his ear.

He knew that voice! That was Lady! But this time he could actually understand the words being spoken to him.

“-Hush darling, it’s ok. You’re alright. Mommy’s here Harry, it’s ok. Hush now, hush.” Lady’s voice trailed off in a hum.

Mommy? It couldn’t be, his mother was-

“He’s got quite a set of lungs on him doesn’t he Lily?” That was Lover’s voice!

Wait…Lily? Could it be..?

“Well, it’s got to be traumatic, don’t you think Prongs? Being born? Look at his red face! He looks so weird! Are you sure you gave birth to a human?”

Harry froze. Could it be? That sounded like… it sounded exactly like Sirius had, voice a little smoother, a little younger, but still the same. And what had he said? Prongs?

Harry slowly opened his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry shapes in front of him and…damn! He couldn’t see more than a few blurry shapes in front of him. Where were his glasses?

“Oh shush you two! He looks beautiful!”

“You’re biased Lily. Beautiful? For a wrinkly red prune maybe.”

“Don’t insult my son Padfoot! All baby’s look like that! Don’t you remember Ethan and Amaryllis as baby’s? They looked the same!”

“Well yeah, but they’re a lot cuter now that they’re older aren’t they? Still looked hideous at birth, though.”

Harry stared blankly up at the three figures as they argued. Were they..? Could they mean…? BABY?

Feeling shaken and confused, Harry felt like he just could not get a handle what was going on. Just that moment his brain decided that enough was enough. He had a long day. Time to shut off.

Harry passed out, curled up in a blanket, and being held in strong arms against the chest of his mother.


	3. The Early Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite a while, but I finally had time AND motivation to write a bit more. I also edited the first couple chapters a bit to make them a little smoother than they were. This may not be as good as the earlier chapters, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.

The Early Days

Harry was leaning a lot about being a baby, but very little of it was a pleasant experience. In fact, it was downright humiliating at times. There must be a reason, he mused, that baby’s do not remember their births, and hold very few (if any) memories of their early days in life. He was helpless in such unexpected and embarrassing ways that it made him feel extremely vulnerable.

Harry did not like feeling vulnerable.

Harry had not had a pleasant childhood the first time around. His aunt and uncle had been very unhelpful when he was younger. They took care of his basic needs, but expected him to learn how to care for himself at a very early age. After the first time he was able to dress himself, they never lifted a finger to help him again. The same held true for all other forms of self-care: bathing, eating, walking, etc.

However, much to Harry’s humiliation, tasks he had been capable of since before he had even developed long-term memory were now far beyond his reach. The first time Harry had soiled his nappies he had actually burst out crying in discomfort and mortification. On the bright side, crying had easily brought attention from his parents, who had been able to clean him up in just a few minutes. On the downside Harry had soiled himself. Repeatedly.

Similarly, eating had also become a chore in indignity. Did they really expect him to suck on his mother’s breast?

Yes. Yes they did.

It was difficult to overcome his revulsion. At seventeen breasts had never really attracted Harry, and had actually been a source of unease. He had been given a book by the Dursley’s the summer before his third ear about sex and puberty. They told him in no uncertain terms that they weren’t going to give him ‘The Talk’. No, that was reserved for family. However, they also weren’t going to risk him knocking some girl up and laying a freakish burden on them. The book had stated that breasts were for this very task: feeding babies. The mammary glands would produce milk, and babies would eat to grow bigger and stronger.

The book’s clinically factual information wasn’t what Harry remembered most about breasts. What Harry remembered was the way his classmates had always wanted bigger ones. His male classmates would often gossip about the size and feel of the ones they had been able to touch. Bigger breasts seemed to be better in their minds. His female classmates had similar thoughts about size: they wanted to have bigger breasts. Ginny had often tried to increase her breast size through wearing low cut shirts, and pushing her chest up, as if trying to draw Harry’s attention to her (rather small) ‘assets’.  Other girls that had flirted with him had tried to draw his attention to the same area, as if large breasts would make up for small personalities.

Not to Harry. There was a reason that Harry had chosen Cho and Ginny to have pretend crushes on. One of those reasons was that they both had smaller, less curvy figures. Harry thought it was because they both played Quidditch. Quidditch players were the only sportsmen in the Wizarding World, and therefore they were in the best physical shape, meaning less curves. Some people were rather rude about it to female Quidditch players, calling them tomboys. (Some of the Slytherins were much cruder. That must be why they could never get female players on their team.)

At the time that seemed like a bonus to Harry. He had never really been attracted to the soft, female form, but more towards the hard muscles of men. Harry had long ago decided that being beaters had done wonders for Fred and George’s arms and chests.

But that’s a bit off topic. The point was that now Harry didn’t have a choice, and it was humiliating. If it wouldn’t have been counterproductive, Harry thought he would have either refused to eat or thrown up after each meal. However, life at the Dursley’s and the ‘camping trip from hell’ had taught him not to waste the opportunity to eat, so Harry suffered through each meal, and rejoiced when he felt full quickly.

Besides the problems eating and toileting, Harry was feeling helpless because of how weak he was. He couldn’t even roll over by himself, let alone lift his head or crawl somewhere.

Unlike his other problems this one had a solution Harry was quite happy with.

His family.

Being picked up and cuddled wasn’t what Harry was used to. In fact, the first time his crying had led to him being picked up and cradled against his mother was downright startling! His cries had cut off abruptly, and he blinked in shock at the blurry figure above him. For someone who could count the number of hugs he had received on one hand it had taken some getting used to, but in a pleasant way.

Harry would never admit it out loud, but a few times he had fussed and cried for the solitary purpose of getting his family to pick him up. There was something about being held by his family that made him feel like the most cherished being in the world.

Being loved, Harry decided, made the lack of dignity that came with babyhood worth it.

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The first few months of Harry’s new life were a repeat of itself. Eat, shit, sleep, eat, shit, sleep, etc. It was a boring repetition that made Harry ache for a change of pace, even if it was better than being in the womb. He was either too tired, too hungry, or too embarrassed to focus on what was going on around him. He was aware only of his immediate needs and feelings and how his family was fixing them.

On the bright side, it was much better than before he had been born. That had been mind-numbingly worse.

After about six months that began to change. Despite his feelings of weakness it was clear that Harry was actually building up stamina. He began to stay awake for longer periods of time, and with that came revelation.

This truly was a new life.

Not long after being born Harry had tried to figure out what was going on. Was this really the afterlife? Were people reborn dead? Or were the dead reborn? Had he travelled through time to relive his life again?

The answer was no. This appeared to be a new life all together. His parents were the same Lily and James he had been told about, and Sirius and Remus were similar too, but the world was definitely not the same. For one thing there had been no mention of Wormtail, and in six months Harry was sure he would have visited at least once. For another thing the date was definitely wrong. He was born on the same day, July 31st, but the year was wrong. The year here was 2000, and not 1980 like it should be.

Harry clearly was in another world, a theory that was confirmed by something that he had here, and didn’t have in his last life: siblings.

Ethan and Amaryllis Potter.

Ethan and Ama.

The first thing he had learned about them was that they were thankfully nothing like Dudley. It had been several days after his birth that he had finally been awake to see them, a memory that made Harry want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Frankly, Harry blamed Sirius for the whole situation.

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After several days of being coddled and watched in the hospital Harry and Lily had been released to go home. One dizzying floo trip later and they were home at…Potter Manor? Harry had never heard of the place before, but it put what he had seen of Malfoy Manor and the Dursley’s to shame.

His vision still wasn’t the best without his glasses, but there was an elegance that seemed to radiate from his surroundings. It was glamorous in an established fashion. Clearly there was money around him, but it wasn’t a brutal, cold elegance like Malfoy Manor had. It had a quality to the place that the Dursley’s (who always wanted to appear better off than they had been) had lacked. No, Potter Manor was done up with a warm, homey feel, that seemed to draw Harry in. A bit like the Burrow had felt, radiating love and warmth.

In fact, it felt a little like Hogwarts had too. As if the magic was in the very air and giving the building a bit more sentience then an inanimate object should have.

So distracted by what he could feel about the building Harry almost didn’t notice when two small children came racing down the hallway towards them.

Ethan and Ama. Or as he had come to know them by their voices: Boy Child and Girl Child. In these early days Harry could not have told someone what his siblings looked like, but he quickly learned them by his other senses.

Ethan was clearly older than Ama. He had a certain clarity to his speech that she didn’t. In fact, Ama slurred her words together slightly as she rushed to get them out, seemingly as if she could not wait to finish one word before the next began. Ethan was also more sure on his feet and ran everywhere. Ama tried to follow her brother, Harry could give her that, but she would often trip or pause to hold onto the wall or railing when her footing became precarious. Ethan always smelled slightly of mint, and Ama of flowers.

Harry would learn all this later though.

Initially? Initially Ethan was a small blur with dark hair, and Ama was the slightly smaller blur with longer dark hair that came to greet him and his parents when they arrived home.

Squealing in excitement they rushed to the door on tiny feet, Ama stumbling slightly, and tried to tackle Lily. Laughing, James and Sirius had stepped forward to intercept them, catching them and swinging them up into their arms.

Harry hadn’t noticed them at first, so distracted by the trip and the odd sensations Potter Manor was giving off. Their voices were enough to catch his attention though.

“It that him? Is that our baby brother?” Was that-? Was that Boy Child’s voice? It was clearer than Harry had heard it before, but it had the same tones. Same cadence.

“I wanna see! I wanna see brofer!” And that was Girl Child! Harry was sure that was Girl Child.

Lily laughed.

“Yes it is. Ethan, Ama, this is your little brother, Hadrian James Potter. Harry my sweet, this is your older brother and sister, Ethan and Amaryllis.” Harry felt himself lifted up slightly, and felt his face being patted by tiny hands. Usually, having his personal space invaded by anyone other than his friends would have sent Harry flinching back, but he was too stunned to move.

Siblings? Harry had siblings? Older ones? As conversation drifted around him Harry felt himself floating happily. He had already decided that cuddles were worth the disgusting things that came with childhood, and having his family back was definitely worth going through the trauma of birth, but siblings? They were the icing on the cake!

Harry couldn’t remember how many times in his friendship he had wanted to yell at Ron. Sometimes he had. Sometimes he had kept quiet. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but Harry didn’t often feel like fighting with Ron when they had a difference of opinion, and when it came to wealth? They definitely had a difference of opinion. Ron had wanted money. Wanted to be as wealthy as the Malfoy’s had to be honest. And every time he had raged about Harry having what Ron wanted, Harry couldn’t help but seethe over the fact that Ron had what Harry wanted too.

Siblings.

Not a cousin, like Dudley. Despite being raised in the same household Dudley had never been Harry’s brother. He was Harry’s tormenter, his own personal bully to torment his waking hours. But Ron? Ron had _six_ siblings. Ok, the twins sometimes tormented Ron, but Harry had heard many stories of playing with his siblings. It was clear to anyone who saw them near one another that the Weasley siblings loved one another.

Harry had longed for siblings almost as much as he longed to have his parents back.

And here they were. Real.

A barking laugh brought Harry out of his thoughts. Harry had been passed over to Sirius, who was now holding Harry on his lap, seated in another room. Harry gave a little baby sigh. Why did he keep losing concentration? It was like he couldn’t focus on more than one or two things at time!

Harry couldn’t bring himself to be too concerned about this. In the last few days his life had changed more than he could have ever believed, and Harry was left slightly reeling. However, his life had never really been what you can call stable before, and Harry had learned to roll with it for the most part. Besides, it was always easier to adjust to good things.

Extra family? Was a good thing.

Harry sighed again, happy to let his mind drift and soak in the atmosphere of being surrounded by joy and love, when he suddenly felt himself tipping.

Wait, not tipping! Falling! He was falling!

Stuck, wrapped in a tight blanket (“Like a little baby burrito!” James had laughed earlier that day) Harry could not even attempt to break his fall as all support left him and he tumbled towards the ground. He couldn’t even lift his arms, and had only just opened his mouth to scream when suddenly it was all over.

He hovered in midair for one moment. Two. Then arms scooped him up from underneath and he was in Sirius’ arms again. Once more secure.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Sirius gasped. “James would have killed me for that! Ethan! I didn’t know you could do that!”

“Uncle Sirius!” Said Boy Child (Ethan! Harry reminded himself. His brother was Ethan). “You dropped Harry!” And with that Harry understood some of what had just happened. Sirius had stood up, but he had not thought to pick Harry, who was still laying on his lap, and Harry had tumbled off the lap towards the floor.

But he hadn’t hit the floor. What had happened there?

“Ethan! You did magic!” The wondrous tone in Sirius’ voice was incongruous to Ethan’s tone, which had been accusatory.

“You dropped him! You dropped my baby! Put him down! Put him down Uncle Sirius!” Ethan sounded furious. Close to a tantrum Harry thought. A little like Dudley had as a child when he didn’t get all the birthday gifts he wanted.

Coming out of shock of being dropped and then caught, Harry could quickly see things getting out of hand. Sirius was rambling about Ethan showing magic (Which confused Harry. What magic?) and wasn’t listening to Ethan’s incessant demands that he put Harry down. The matter was taken out of Sirius’ hands a moment later.

Literally.

Harry floated out of Sirius’ arms to land in a much smaller lap, that must have belonged to Ethan. Ethan, who must have just used accidental magic to levitate Harry to himself. Wait. If that wasn’t Sirius, then that means Ethan was the one to catch Harry when he fell!

“You did it again! Ethan! Why didn’t you tell me you had done accidental magic! James and Lily never said a word!” Sirius sounded both excited and hurt, as if it was a personal affront that he hadn’t been told about Ethan’s progress.

Ethan just huffed at him. “Mine,” he said, glaring at Sirius. This finally seemed to distract Sirius.

“What?”

“Mine,” Ethan repeated. “This is _my_ little brother. Mommy and daddy said so. Mine. You dropped him! You don’t get to hold him anymore!”

“Dropped him?” Came a dangerous voice from the other side of the room. “What do you mean he dropped him? I left you alone for 10 minutes! 10 minutes Sirius!” It was Lily, and from the sound of her voice Harry could now tell where he had gotten some of his temper from.

The resulting argument gave Harry the following understanding of his family:

  1. Sirius, while named as the Potter children’s godfather, had not been the most responsible unless Remus was there to help him. He wasn’t cruel or uninterested, but tended to be…careless. 
    1. Exhibit A: Sirius had indeed stood up without picking Harry up first, causing him to start falling to the ground. Not because he wanted to hurt Harry, but because he didn’t think first.
  2. Ethan had caught Harry with accidental magic. His first bought of accidental magic if his parents were to be believed. Ethan was 5 years old, and a little late for showing magic. Apparently bouts of accidental magic usually happened around 2-3 years old. Ama had already shown some by turning James’ hair pink when he wouldn’t read her a bed time story she had demanded. The Potters didn’t seem too much like the harsh and rather cruel relatives of Neville’s that Harry had heard about. They hadn’t tried to force any magic out of Ethan, but they were very happy nonetheless that their son was a wizard.
  3. Ethan loved being a big brother. He took the responsibility to heart. When the adults were fighting over Sirius’ stupid mistake her just cuddled Harry close and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you little brother.”



Harry just sighed, and settled back for a nap. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry, but he was sure that he blamed Sirius for all of this.

At least living here would be interesting.

The only things missing were his independence, and his friends.

 

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Elsewhere:

Molly Weasley stood over the crib of her four month old twins, frowning in concern. Now, she was not new at being a mother. These were in fact her fourth and fifth children, and not her first. You would think after all those years she would have some idea on how children behave, wouldn't you? She sighed. You would think so, but her newest two children seemed determined to toss her expectations out the window.

Starting from the fact that there were two of them. She blushed slightly. She hadn't expected two, and her family hadn't been able to afford more than the basic check ups from the Healers. Finding out the gender cost extra.  _And so,_ Molly thought with chagrin,  _does finding out if you are carrying multiples_. She thought she was having a little harder time with the pregnancy because it was her fourth one, not because she was carrying double. At least her younger brothers were thrilled. Fabian and Gideon were ecstatic to find out that they would have another set of twins around to dote upon.

Frederick Gideon and George Fabian Weasley.

Fred and George.

Only four months old and causing more strife than their three older brothers combined. Molly startled slightly when she felt arms wrap around her from behind. 

"Molly," said her husband in a sleepy tone, "Come back to bed. The twins are fine. We have alarm spells set up if they need us. You can't spend all your time worrying about them. You need to rest." Tears filled Molly's eyes at his words.

"I can't sleep," she replied in a choked whisper. "I cant figure out what's wrong, and I can't sleep until I do." Arthur sighed, and continued to hold his wife.

"There is nothing wrong Molly-wobbles-"

"There is!" She interrupted. "There is something wrong! Look at them Arthur! They're practically curled around one another! If they aren't touching then they cry continuously! It's like they can't bear to be apart, like it hurts them. And I don't know why!"

It was true. From the moment of their birth the twins had wailed and shrieked any time they were not within touching distance of one another. It had caused everyone in the house distress, especially the other children, who didn't understand any more than their parents did. Bill had whined about the interrupted sleep, and Charlie had taken to calling the twins 'loud' and 'louder' instead of by their names. Percy, only two and a half years old, had asked if they could take the babies back to the hospital and get other babies, because these ones hurt his ears. 

Arthur sighed wearily. "Molly. You know what the most likely reason for that is-"

"Yes! But we can't be sure! We can't check! If it's true, if they are  _soul_ twins instead of normal twins-"

"Then there is nothing we would be able to do for them anyways. We already talked about this with your brothers. It's the most likely cause of the crying. I know we can't afford the test love, but they are fitting all the symptoms. We'll just have to wait it out. We already took them to St. Mungos and the Healers didn't find anything wrong with them. Why won't you accept that?" This was not the first time they had this conversation. It wasn't even the fifth time, but Molly would not accept that Fred and George were showing classic signs of soul bonding.

Molly was silent for a long moment, before whispering, "Because if I accept they are soul twins, I accept that they will never be truly happy."

Arthur blinked in confusion. "What? Why wouldn't they be happy. They will always have one another there to keep them happy."

But Molly was shaking her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "But no one else Arthur! I have researched this before! They will be so focused on each other that they will have difficulty making friends! People just won't be able to understand how connected they are. And finding love? I've seen the numbers you know. Souls twins are rare, but rarer still are the souls twins that find love and marry. One in ten. I can't imagine my life without you, and the idea that they can never find that kind of connection with someone-" She broke off there, quiet sobs finally breaking forth.

Arthur was quiet for a few moments, hugging his wife close to comfort her.

"Then we make sure they never feel alone," he said quietly. "We make sure that they can at least have family."

Little did the Weasleys know that Fred and George simply did not want to be apart yet because they had been forced apart once before, and could not bear to do so again so soon.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've actually been able to get a plot bunny on paper...or computer. I'm usually more of a reader than writer. I sat down to write an outline and 5 hours later there was this.  
> It's been mulling around my brain for almost a year, longer than most of my evil bunny's do.  
> I will try to continue this, but this is probably the longest chapter I'll ever write. Hopefully it's not too bad.


End file.
